Atmospheric Burn
by Elagabalus
Summary: [AU:No magic] The new generation sings loudly to thier anthem of 'I don't care! ' Harry Potter, a somewhat restless airplane pilot from the New York City of the 1920's, becomes caught in Fate's gnarled, cruel fingers as he struggles to rise above it all


**Atmospheric Burn**

By King

**Disclaimer**: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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**Chapter One**: Champagne Cocktail

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"_God_! What a bore!" Ginny sighed heavily as she adjusted her wrap-around coat.

"You said it," Harry agreed over the cigarette tucked into the corner of his mouth. "_The Seeker_'s really gone to the dogs."

Ron whistled loudly at the hissing traffic, searching for a cab. "It's not been the same since Thomas n' ol' Finny ran off to Jersey."

"I dunno," mused Ginny. "I never saw the two without at least one of 'em juiced."

"Aw, dry up, Ginny," Harry snapped. "Dean and Seamus had the best act in New York, and you know it. Besides, _you're_ one to talk."

She glared at him as a taxi pulled up to the curb. Ginny shot into the cab angrily, roughly pulling her brother in after her.

"Well, ain't you gonna say something?" she demanded of the other redhead as Harry climbed in after them.

"Cut it out," Ron muttered. "I don't wanna have to listen to the two of you bickering all night long."

"Are you saying –" Ginny huffed.

"'Ey! You t'ree gonna tell me where I'm headed?" The taxi driver interrupted.

"How 'bout the movies?" Ron offered.

Harry flicked his cigarette out the window. "There's only some stupid Mary Pickford and Gish pictures on."

Ginny looked like she was about to burst into flames, her coat askew and her curly, bright orange hair flickering around her face. "For your –"

"Alright, alright," Ron intervened. "Just take us wherever you want." He addressed the burly driver.

"Fine with me." The car began to speed, weaving in and out of traffic brusquely.

"Whatdja go and tell him that for!" Ginny gasped. "He'll drive us as far as he can and take every penny we got. Look, he's goin' fifty!" The driver ignored her.

They were passing by the clubs and hotels and restaurants that enclosed the city in the loud, bright atmosphere the three were so familiar with. The ground grew greener as the car devoured the pavement into the suburbs. White marble mansions lined the road and stared down at them disapprovingly, offended by their class and their gin bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag stuck in Ginny's purse. Their destination became clear as they slowed near a huge, expansive house lit like a miniature sun growing up from the earth. There were tents propped up everywhere and a great wave of people washed and undulated over the lawn. The loud scream of horns pounded the tin can cab.

The man at the wheel rattled off the fare and a rude 'Get out.' They stared at each other bemusedly. Ron shrugged and opened the door. As Ginny clambered out after him, Harry threw a few coins at the driver. The car squealed and honked loudly as it pulled out of the road.

Grabbing their arms and striding across the lawn, Ginny said, "Wonder what kind of swell lives here, huh?"

"Someone with a _lotta_ dough, that's for sure," Ron stated, staring at a great fountain decked out with cherubs and fishes.

They climbed up the stairs to the great front doors already flung open and being well traveled by all sorts of people – fabulously glamorous women, fashionable from their short skirts to their bobbed haircuts, men in tailored suits with their hair smoothed back, old men, old women, whites, Negroes, even a few rosy-cheeked kids. The entrance hall was enormous, dominated by the colorfully dressed people and the grand staircase. A servant appeared at their side and had taken their hats and coats before they knew what happened.

A woman laughed noisily as she tried to balance a silver tray under glittering glasses of champagne cocktails. The real waiter tottered around with her, his arm around her waist. She shoved the tray under Ron's nose. "Champagne, daaahling?" He flushed at her.

Ginny rolled her eyes and took a glass, handing one to Harry and nudging another into her brother's hand. "Let's go back outside."

The chattering, nonsensical crowd pressed against them as they trudged out a side door leading to one of the lit tents. Tables were scattered about and groaned under the weight of all the elbows, arms, and even a standing woman here and there. The talk was loud, but not loud enough to suffocate the wails of the live band at the end of the canopy.

"The Charleston!" Ginny cried. "I love The Charleston!"

A young man, very handsome, grabbed her hand suddenly. "It'd be a shame, then, if you didn't have a dance, right, doll?"

"Sure!" She swept away, spilling a bit of champagne.

Ron looked indecisive for a moment, like he had half a mind to go after his little sister. Harry pulled him away, sitting down at a table. They nodded at the four girls who had paused in their animate conversation to smile winningly at them. Two were obviously twins, dark haired and dark skinned and dark eyed. The girl nearest Ron looked a little vacant, her large eyes threatening to swallow her face while the one by Harry leaned toward him unreservedly.

"I'm Lavender," she smiled as if this simple fact ought to be earth shattering to his existence. Lavender gestured at the twin girls. "That's Pavarti and Padma. And this –" She frowned at the last girl.

"Lovegood. Luna Lovegood." Luna gave them a vapid smile and twiddled with a daisy chain at her neck. Harry noticed her hair was long and old-fashioned though her dress looked like it could have been on the latest issue of _Vogue_. Ron turned away from her nervously.

"I'm Harry, this is Ron," he replied casually. "It's funny, but we don't even know who the host of this party is."

Lavender laughed. "Oh, that's no big deal. Lots of people here aren't invited at all. They just come whenever they please. But his name's Tom Riddle. Real ritzy kinda guy."

"He's a ghost from the civil war. They say he's Abraham Lincoln himself." Luna said this very matter-of-factly.

Ron and Harry stared at her. One of the twins snorted. "Don't be stupid. He's just got some real rich folks down in Cisco." She leaned toward them confidentially. "I heard he ain't exactly _legitimate_, though. So when he tried to get money outta the folks, they sent him East to this big, fancy house."

Her sister chuckled derisively. "That kinda thing only happens in the movies. I bet he's just some bootlegger."

"This is getting old. I wanna dance!" Lavender wrenched Harry out of his seat, leading him away.

The dance floor was simply wherever you fancied. There were couples kicking their heels and flinging their hands on tables, in the fountain, on the grass, on the porch, and right in the band's lap. Harry found himself thumping out the steps of The Charleston, actually enjoying himself. However, Ron, whom Harry glimpsed only briefly every now and then, was miserably trying to move in synch with Luna and her painfully slow motion. Pavarti and Padma looked incredibly charming as they swung with each other in perfect harmony. Ginny was slightly wet from perspiration, but having the time of her life.

Somehow, in all the confused laughter and fast-paced activity, Harry had switched Lavender off for Ginny and had danced somewhat dangerously close to a large cement-bellied swimming pool they hadn't noticed before. He saw the challenge in her eyes, strands of dark red hair slick against her forehead. They began to pound their feet closer and closer to the edge of the pool and soon the crowd around them noticed. People jostled and formed a tight circle around the pair; the band shrilled even louder, picking up the tempo.

Harry felt like the adrenaline would burst his heart, moving step for step with Ginny as the trumpets rang loudly in his ears. He was determined that she would fall into the pool first, and she would have if her arm had not swung at him unexpectedly. The water cracked as he smacked against it, plunging downward.

A great explosion of laughter burst from the crowd. Harry pushed to the surface; gasping and flinching as thick ropes of water hit his face when other men jumped in after him for the fun of it. Women dove in, champagne cocktails and all. He glared up at Ginny's hysterical laughing and dog paddled to the dry pavement. A firm hand reached out and helped him up out of the surface though his wet suit threatened to pull him down again.

"Thanks," Harry said gratefully. The man was tall and pale. He had an intelligent face, a handsome face. He somehow reminded Harry of himself. Except that _his_ black-as-licorice hair was smoothed back perfectly, while Harry's wouldn't even be able to begin to imitate the suavity of it. He was dressed simply in dress pants and shirt with a dark purple waistcoat. A gold watch gleamed against his wrist, smelling richly of money.

"You're quite welcome, Harry." The man smiled at him warmly.

He picked himself up wetly and looked at him strangely. "How do you know my name?"

"I'm sorry," he apologized quickly. "I ought to explain, but first, why don't you come in the house and dry off?"

"I guess…" Harry wiped ineffectually at his glasses.

"Wonderful." The man took his elbow heavily and led him toward the lofty mansion. "I'm Tom Riddle, by the way."

"Nice to meet you," he replied uncertainly.

Tom Riddle steered him through his home, past stark-scented libraries and gilded drawing rooms, and into a high vaulted bedroom. The furnishings were severe and somber, arranging themselves in austere ornamentation. Riddle coaxed open a monster of a bureau and took out a fine three-piece suit, complete with dress shirt and black bow tie.

"Here you are," he said and pressed the clothes into Harry's hands. "You can change in that bathroom. There ought to be some towels, too."

Harry stared at the suit; it probably cost more than he made in a year. "I couldn't – it's too fine –"

"I don't want to hear it," said Riddle firmly, smiling. "My servant had my size wrong when he bought it, but I thought it a shame to get rid of. So please oblige me by taking it."

"Well –"

He was ushered quickly into the marble bathroom, ornate and disapproving of his wet-rat state. Harry peeled off his once best suit and handled the velvety white towels delicately, half expecting them to fall apart at any minute. Riddle's suit fit him near perfectly, just slightly long at the hems. His feet stuck out from under the pants, cold and colorless.

Coming out of the bathroom, Riddle was standing at the window and staring down at the lawn. A smartly dressed servant was polishing a pair of shoes at the dresser.

Riddle smiled up at him and said, "I hope these shoes will fit you. Fred, take Mr. Potter's wet clothes, if you will. I'll have them dry cleaned and mailed to you." He did not ask for Harry's address.

Harry felt a little twitch of annoyance at the suave Mr. Tom Riddle as his servant took the drenched bundle from him, handing him the shiny black patent leather shoes and a pair of socks. "You still haven't told me how you know me. I've never met you before."

"Why don't we take a seat first?" He gestured to two wingbacks facing the empty fireplace. Harry sat, pulling on the socks and lacing up the shoes.

Riddle leaned back in the chair, watching him with an unreadable expression. "Your mentor, Professor Albus Dumbledore, how is he?"

Blinking with surprise, Harry answered automatically, "He's fine. Strange as always."

"I'm sure he is," Riddle chuckled, but it sounded hollow and humorless. "It just so happens that I was once under his tutelage, as well."

"Really?" It was an odd image – this worldly bachelor (he supposed he was unmarried) being taught by Harry's oddball Professor Dumbledore.

"Yes, out in California, before the war, I learned quite a bit from the professor."

"He's never mentioned you before."

"I suppose not," Riddle smiled strangely. "Tell me, does he still have all those dressing robes?"

Professor Albus Dumbledore was known to be seen around his home in garishly colored silk housecoats, all peculiar and eccentric. Harry laughed. "Yes, and each one is just as bad as the last."

Riddle laughed as well, eerily perfect sounding. A knock at the door interrupted them. A maid stuck her head in meekly.

"Mr. Malfoy's arrived, Mr. Riddle. He's in the library."

Riddle eased out of his chair gracefully and nodded to the girl. "I'm sorry, Harry, but I'll have to cut short our conversation and let you rejoin the party. Maybe we can start it up again some other time."

"Sure," said Harry, shaking his hand.

"Send my regards to the professor," Riddle added as he stepped out the door.

Harry listened to the man's retreating footsteps. The maid stared at him solemnly.

"Shall I take you back out to the lawn?"

He shook his head, already walking away. "I can find it myself, thanks." Which was a lie. He would probably get lost, but servants made him nervous. Reminded him too much of his childhood misery with the Dursleys. Luckily, Harry did not get lost and recognized a great open room as the grand foyer where Ron had blushed at the champagne girl.

People still laughed and littered in the high-domed space, gathered loosely around a sleek black piano. Lavender was seated at it, crying steadily for some reason but still belting out a familiar tune on the keys. The dusky twins from before were singing gaily, Ron caught between them and obviously very drunk.

"_One thing's sure and nothing's surer_

_The rich get richer and the poor get – children._

_In the meantime,_

_In between time,_

_Ain't we got fun –"_

"'E–y, HARRY!" Ron shouted at him, waving wildly. Harry avoided his gaze and slipped out the door. Ron was his best friend, but he could be an unbearably embarrassing drunk. He searched for Ginny and found her in the midst of a great loud group, all talking but apparently not to one another. She had her head flung back in a great burst of laughter and also had the deep redness about her cheeks, more effective than any rouge, as her brother.

Harry turned away and grabbed another champagne cocktail from a tray as it passed under his nose. He sat down at an almost empty table at the edge of the glow and the lights. Nodding at the blonde man seated across from him, Harry patted his pockets, looking for a cigarette. Then he remembered this wasn't his suit.

"Here." The man had pulled out a slim, gold cigarette case and matching lighter. Harry accepted the thin white paper stick, letting him light the end.

"Thanks." He took a slow inhale, studying his casual companion of the twilight. He was built like Harry – somewhat lean and around average height. He had a cool, distant face. Pale blonde hair – styled and glossy, pale skin, and pale gray eyes. Harry supposed he was just around his own age, but he smelled of not only money, but high society, too.

"Take a dip in the pool?" he asked, noticing Harry's still damp hair.

He flushed. "A girl pushed me in."

"Riddle must've given you the suit, then."

"Yeah… you know him?"

"I know about him," the man said simply. "I'm Malfoy."

"Potter. I thought you were in the libra–" Harry stopped himself, unsettled.

He couldn't be certain, but he thought Malfoy had smiled in the dark. "That would be my father. Business. I hate business talk. Almost as bad as lawyer talk."

"What about lawyers talking business?" Harry asked, amused.

"Good God, don't be morbid."

Harry laughed.

"What do you do?" Malfoy inquired. "I, of course, do absolutely nothing but play polo and rush around to wherever people are rich and plastered."

"Sounds productive," said Harry dryly. Malfoy snorted. "I fly tourists around the city in a tin can airplane."

"Sounds meaningful and fulfilling." Malfoy's tone was equally dry.

Harry sipped at his champagne. "It brings in the bread."

A wet spray suddenly hit the back of Harry's neck. He swiveled and stared at Ron and Ginny practically hanging off each other and crying out in laughter. Normally, you would've been able to hear them coming a mile away, but the noise from the still raging party had allowed them to blend in with their drunken clamor.

"Pfsht – s-s-sorry, H-Hare-Hare –" Ron tried to apologize but fell helpless to slurred guffaws. Ginny let out a scream of giggles.

Harry thought he heard Malfoy mutter something like "Irish" distastefully. He got up quickly and picked Ginny up from where she had stumbled to the grass. "Alright, you two – I think both of you had enough champagne tonight." The rich blonde did not offer assistance as Harry struggled to keep his friends marginally vertical. He staggered away, supporting Ron and Ginny.

"Haaaa-rry. How come –" chortled Ginny as she clung to him clumsily. "How's it yer, yer ain't j-jiggered, huuh?"

"Don' be s-s-such a D-duumb Dorrra," Ron retorted amiably. "H-he he's got a buzzz. Buzzz. Buzzy as a beeeee." His voice cracked as he tried to warble along with his garbled words.

"God, you two stink," Harry muttered. He regretted the comment immediately when they both roared with laughter and staggered about even more.

They somehow made it to the curb where there were several cars parked in the road. One had somehow made its way into the fountain. Cabs crouched and stalked through the maze on the street, preying on other obviously very drunken people and carting them away on their quota. Harry waved and a taxi immediately pulled up in front of him. His two charges stumbled against it, laughing. He managed to get the door open and pushed them in. He gave the cabby their address and watched as Tom Riddle's house swept away farther and farther from them, still shining brightly among the gloom of the white marble castles.

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**A/N**: It's been a while since I last wrote any fanfics... I hope I've not gotten _too_ rusty. This story was mainly just sprouted from reading too much Fitzgerald... But I do like the twenties. Such a romantic age... Pfft.


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